


It Is What It Is

by MALLR4TS



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Comfort, Cuddling, Cynical, Cynicism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MALLR4TS/pseuds/MALLR4TS
Summary: You never thought Micah would be the only person who goes out of their way to comfort you when you need it the most, but he's surprisingly calming, and his cynical outlook on life might be the answer you need.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	It Is What It Is

**Author's Note:**

> i just need a mikey comfort fic, so here it is x
> 
> Tumblr is @MALLR4TS

It's just one of those days, you know? You woke up in a mood, you got ready in a mood, you ate your breakfast in a mood. No matter what you do, you can't shake this feeling off. You've tried to avoid everybody today, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing and innocently hurt one of your friends, the varied bunch that you assume you get along well with. And so far, so good, but you can't shake this feeling off.

Most of your day has been spent around the outskirts of camp, sat along the beach as you watch the water, reading a book or cleaning your guns. You'd even eaten dinner over here rather than at the campfire. People had noticed that you were being distant today, though nobody had said much, probably wanting to give you the space that you needed.

As much as you appreciate them giving you your space, you can't help but feel a little disappointed. Did anybody care? Not even enough to simply ask "are you okay?" as you pass by them? You know they've noticed, it's hard not to, being the type of person that you are; but you still feel let down, neglected, like these people that you considered your friends were fake all along. 

Nobody has bothered, and that's still tearing you apart as you've been the first to step in whenever you notice somebody feeling off. You've helped many camp members out, doing whatever they need to help them feel better, even if that means standing on your head! But now? You need them the most, and not a single person has come to your aid. 

But the sound of spurs can be heard softly crunching into the sand as somebody that you'd consider a stranger approaches you, taking his time, a slight slouch to his posture. He stands next to you, a few feet away, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it out into the open water. He exhales slowly, his head dipping down to gaze upon you, leaning back against a log as you watch the suns final rays disappear into the ocean. 

"You alright?" Micah asks with a long drawl. 

"Yeah," you shortly reply. "Are you?" you add, not wanting to come across as rude. You've not spoken to Micah much, the odd sentence here and there, usually exchanged whilst out on group heists, and that's about it. He seems to have kept his distance from you, for whatever reason, and you don't mind that. You can't complain, you haven't put any effort in to get to know him either, mostly because everybody had warned you about him when you first joined.

"I'm just fine, cowpoke. I know you ain't thought," Micah tells you. "You mind if I sit with you a bit? We ain't gotta chat if you don't wanna." 

"Go ahead," you tell him, your head lifting as you watch him settle beside you. He takes his time sitting down, letting out a sigh as he leans back against your shared log, cracking his joints before finally relaxing. 

There's silence for a few moments, until Micah speaks again.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? The whole camp's noticed how distant you've been today," he asks. 

"Have they?" you say with a scoff, and Micah raises a brow at you. "They ain't bothered with me, but I don't blame 'em... I just... woke up in a mood this morning and I can't seem to shake it off."

"I can't say I ain't surprised; people can be real fake. But I know the feeling, the bad mood stuff," Micah says with a nod. "I ain't a stranger to that. Just one of those days, huh?" 

"Yeah. Just one of those days," you repeat, looking out at the scenery.

Micah pauses again, his eyes trailing over to admire the view you're gazing at, though his eyes flick to watch you in the corners every so often. He's noticed how down in the dumps you look, with a permanent frown and glassy eyes, and he assumes you've been crying to yourself.

"Is there anything I can get you? Some whiskey, perhaps?" Micah offers.

"That's tempting, but I feel I'd end up a drunk, sobbing mess," you say with a soft laugh. 

Micah laughs with you, "what a sight that'd be," he comments. "What else then? What helps cheer you up?" 

You ponder, a question you were hoping to hear all day, yet you don't have the answer for. Micah knows you're thinking about it, and he watches as you shift your weight, tucking your knees up to your chin and wrapping your arms around them, comforting yourself without realizing it. He reads your body language clear as day, though you don't realize the obvious sign you're calling out for. 

"You-" Micah goes to speak, but stops himself. You watch him stare at the sand before looking at you again, slowly stretching his arm out on the log behind him. "You wanna come here?" he offers, his stretched out arm beckoning you with a flex of his hand, and you understand what he's suggesting. 

There's an issue on the table, being the man himself; you know the type of man he is, but from the way he's looking at you, with his worn, icy blue eyes, you read nothing but sympathy and calmness in them. He's only offering to comfort you, not forcing himself onto you like the rumours you've heard, and from how this conversation has gone so far, he's done nothing but be polite and look out for you, something the rest of the gang has failed to you. 

Without a word from your lips, you accept, shuffling closer until you're pressed against his side. Your head rests on his shoulder, his tatty hair brushing against your forehead as his arm relaxes around you, lazily draped against your shoulder. His breaths are deep and slow, his cheek eventually pressing against your head as he seems to relax; you're surprised he was nervous to begin with, but then again, he has every right to be nervous, not just from your possible rejection, but from how the others would treat him if you took insult to his offer.

"Now, what's really a matter?" Micah questions in a voice so soft. You'd never have through that Micah could sound like soft cotton, nor feel like it, but you find yourself moulding into his body more as every second passes.

You let out a soft laugh as you say "where do I begin?" and Micah chuckles with you. "There's a lot on my mind, and I'm usually good at ignoring it and getting on with my day, but I seemed to have slipped up this morning." 

"You ain't slipped up," Micah tuts. "Everybody has days like this, but that's just life, I'm afraid."

His comment is short, simple, and straight to the point, but he's right. Everybody does have days like this, regardless if their days are regular or rare, and unfortunately, that is just life. 

"That your outlook to everything?" you question. 

"Pretty much," Micah says with a light shrug. "It is what it is," he comments. It's a cynical point of view, but this is Micah Bell you're talking to, after all. Micah Bell, the only man who's taken his time to approach you and offer comfort, the man whose now softly trailing his fingertips over the goosebumps on your forearm, his rough fingertips scratching an itch you never knew you had.

You can't help but curl up against him more, his facial hair brushing against your forehead, and he seems to take comfort in your small gesture, his arm wrapping tighter around you as his hand settles on your forearm. His hands are much larger than yours, the thick skin of his palm pressed onto you, his thumb trailing back and forth.

You suddenly notice his smell, not off-putting like people class him to be, but surprisingly nice and musky. Yes, he smells like dirt, just like the rest of the gang, but it's entwined with tobacco and sweet whiskey, as well as that generic scent some grown man seem to have. Aftershave possibly? Or just a general odour? Either way, it's calming, heavy on your nose and softening your nerves. 

"You know, sweetheart, I'm surprised. Ain't nobody came to check on you? Not even a passing comment?" Micah asks. 

"No, I'm surprised too," you say with a sigh. "I'm always there when they need me, but everybody's stayed clear of me today. I've noticed their sympathetic looks, but looks don't do much for me when I'm feeling like this." 

"And that's why I figured I'd come over. It's obvious you just need somebody right now, but then again, folk can be fake," Micah tuts with a click of his tongue. 

"Yeah, don't I know that," you sigh. 

"Me too, darlin', me too," Micah comments as he rests his cheek against your head again, this time shutting his eyes and exhaling slowly. 

Your eyes also shut and your head tilts upwards, nuzzling against his cheek, as if to thank him for comforting you. He's softer than you expected, not just his cheek, but everything about him, especially his stomach that your arm is currently wrapped around. You feel him smile as you curl back into the curve of his neck, relaxing your body into his, allow him to simply hold you for a while. 

The sun has long set by now, and all you can hear is Micah's deep breaths with the sound of the shore lapping against the sand nearby. You seem to have drowned out the sound of camp; laughter, noise, singing, the usual. All you need right now is this comfort, to be held by somebody who knows how it feels, not just to feel like this, but to be let down by those you thought you can trust. 

No matter. Days move by and people change, but you've finally found somebody you truly find comfort in. And they've done the same.


End file.
